I don't know what's wrong with me but I really ought to have loved this book.

Told in first person by Rose 'R.B.' Manon as she looks back at her timeI don't know what's wrong with me but I really ought to have loved this book.

Told in first person by Rose 'R.B.' Manon as she looks back at her time in Europe before World War II started, the novel is filled with action yet has an aloof, distanced narrative style that really left me feeling cold and detached. There are so many disparate themes and threads in the plot I couldn't find anything to really hang onto, and I didn't feel any sort of connection with Rose.

Born to a Jewish mother who denied her heritage and a Catholic father, Rose grew up in Nevada and wished to live in New York City where her parents were from. In her twenties, she moved to Paris to be a journalist, covering Berlin and the rise of Hitler in Germany. Tragedy strikes first when Rose's actress cousin Stella is murdered and later when Rose's lover is caught up in the violence in Berlin. Her strangely adversarial relationship with her mother comes to a head, in a manner, during the trial of her cousin's murderer. Through her journalistic work, she brushes up against famed European thinkers and writers, like Janet Flaner and Colette, which shape her as well.

Despite the rich potential of this novel, I just couldn't get into it. The various elements felt disjointed and distracting -- was it a novel of World War II? a kind of murder mystery? a coming-of-age and a mother-daughter tale? -- and I wasn't wild about the writing style, which felt so awkward and clunky, like:

Stella, near tears, was sitting in Clara's living room. "Damn this Hitler character," she said. "he's making us all so nervous."

"It's a scary time, Stella," I replied. "I don't think nay of us can find a context for what we're feeling." (p56)

or very heavy-handed:

The public was fascinated: that monster, who had no papers, crossed the frontier into France, killed a woman -- and almost got away with it. It was a metaphor for what the German war machine was threatening across Europe -- except that the Germans were indeed getting away with it. (p105)

I started this book at least six times since I got it in December but it just didn't work for me. However, others have really enjoyed it, like Anna of Diary of an Eccentric (her review) so do check out the other blogs on tour for their thoughts. Those who like novels about World War II will want to consider this one for sure....more

Historical fiction set during wartime is a favorite genre of mine (or, I suppose, a 'favorite' -- I'm not a fan of war) because there's a real focus oHistorical fiction set during wartime is a favorite genre of mine (or, I suppose, a 'favorite' -- I'm not a fan of war) because there's a real focus on the ordinary, everyday people against a massive canvas. Jennifer Cody Epstein's novel represents what I most love about this genre: it's illuminating and educational without being cold, it's emotional in ways both familiar and alien, and it offers the reader a place to see herself in a situation she, hopefully, will never experience.

Set between 1935 and 1962, The Gods of Heavenly Punishment shifts between Japan and the US and follows a handful of people loosely connected by their pre-war lives in Japan (or, in one case, the US). Written in a vignette style, each chapter opens with a location and date, often jumping years ahead of the previous chapter. Epstein's skill is seen in that the narrative never felt rushed nor choppy, and the characters indeed changed during the unseen time.

There's Anton, a Czech expat and brilliant architect who loves Japan but betrays his soul's home to help the US war effort and his son Bobby, a sensitive photographer with his own secrets; Kenji, Anton's Japanese best friend and colleague, a visionary for Japan during the war; Hana, his beautiful but resentful wife and their daughter Yoshi, who witnesses betrayal, crime, and the horrific bombing of Tokyo. There's a young American pilot who joins 'Doolittle's Raiders', his smart wife and devoted younger brother.

Delightfully and disturbingly, Epstein's characters are human, warm and flawed. I liked Kenji despite myself - and his cruelties - just as I adored broken Hana. There wasn't a particular 'villain', per se, as most everyone was articulated in shades of gray. The descriptions of time and place put me immediately into the story, and I couldn't put this book down. The tension comes from needing to know who survives and at what cost; from the meager hope more than one ends up happy.

Refreshingly, the novel's focus on Japan and sympathy for the Japanese makes this an appealing read. While portraying atrocities on both sides, Epstein also evokes very complicated characters who hate and love their homelands, adopted or otherwise, who are selfish and selfless, who represent the innumerable dead.

While WWII is oft covered territory in historical fiction, I found Epstein's focus on Japan and the 1945 bombing of Tokyo to be fascinating (albeit horrifying). Much like one of the viewers at a photo exhibition, I assumed Tokyo was 'just bombed' but the reality is far more devastating (it was the deadliest raid of World War II, in fact).

I was strongly reminded of Jennifer Haigh's Baker Towers and Ursula Hegi's Floating in My Mother's Palm, both books I loved. This was a zippy read -- I finished it in a few hours -- but one that will linger with me. Highly recommended, especially for those who enjoy World War II narratives or are interested in Japan. ...more

In 2011, Van Booy took my heart, crushed it, reassembled it, and gifted it to me in a wrapping of gorgeous prose in the form of Everything BeautifulIn 2011, Van Booy took my heart, crushed it, reassembled it, and gifted it to me in a wrapping of gorgeous prose in the form of Everything Beautiful Began After. Unsurprisingly, Van Booy has done it again with this book.

Van Booy is a short story writer (Everything Beautiful Began After was his first novel), and this book straddles both forms. In a series of breathtaking vignettes, Van Booy fills out a larger story arc that comes clear as we read on. Opening in 2010, the vignettes flash between then and 1939, following six people or so from the battlefields of World War II through to a convalescent home in California, New York and Manchester.

Despite the brief sketches, the characters feel real, from the first page. There's Mr. Hugo, a German soldier who was shot in the face, living now with the horror of who he was and what he'd done. Martin, adopted at a young age, learns later the tragic partial history of his childhood. John, an American soldier, thought to be dead by his wife and family back in the States, scrabbles to survive after being shot down in his plane. Amelia, his blind granddaughter, is a museum curator who pieces together a story of the war and era in such an inventive, imaginative way I wished it was a real exhibit.

The pacing of the story is gentle, easy, inviting one to linger; but there's tension, too, in understanding how everyone is connected and when -- or if -- the characters will learn the truth of their 'illusion of separateness'.

I just adore Van Booy's use of language, his turn of phrase, which is simply and poetic. Andre Dubus III blurbed his style as 'F. Scott Fitzgerald and Marguerite Duras' which is spot on -- punchy, sharp, achingly gorgeous. (Apparently Van Booy writes fully dressed, right down to sock garters, and I swear, you can feel it in the language.) This is the kind of book that makes me joyful as a reader; I want to dive into the sentences and just swim.

I think this would make a great book club novel for those who might want to dip their toes into more 'literary' fiction; there's some deep emotional choices that would provoke great conversation; and the familiar WWII theme is made fresh with the imaginative narrative style. Lovers of a stunning good sentence will want this book for sure....more

I will admit right off I was nervous about a novel from the viewpoint of the mistress. I'm a wuss about infidelity in fiction. But what little I knowI will admit right off I was nervous about a novel from the viewpoint of the mistress. I'm a wuss about infidelity in fiction. But what little I know about Antoine de Saint-Exupéry -- his famous book The Little Prince and his adventures as a mail pilot -- made me excessively curious about this novel, and Szado didn't disappoint. I loved this book and raced through it -- and adored our heroine.

Shifting between 'now' -- 1967, on the eve of a Montreal exposition dedicated to Antoine de Saint-Exupéry -- and 'then' -- 1940s, the novel focuses on the year Saint-Exupéry started his famed book, The Little Prince.

Mignonne Lachapelle is a young fashion designer in 1940s Manhattan, newly returned from Montreal after caring for her mother, nursing a kind of broken heart over her confusing friendship with Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Determined to pursue a career in fashion design, she is on her way to the atelier of her professor -- a woman Mignonne has discovered stole her designs and passed them off as her own. In a kind of devil's pact at a chance to be a designer, Mignonne is roped into working for this woman and using the Lachapelle family connections with the French ex-pat community to build up and gain clients for the atelier.

The dream client? Consuelo de Saint-Exupéry, the passionate, reckless, dangerous, and wild wife of Antoine.

Juggling her desire for professional success as well as her wish for Antoine to find some measure of happiness -- both emotionally and professionally -- Mignonne becomes embroiled in the Saint-Exupéry marriage. Unsurprisingly, it's hot, messy, messed up, sweet, heartbreaking, and deeply sad.

Both the resolution and the complicated relationships Mignonne ended up having with both Antoine and Consuelo surprised me and delighted me. I was fascinated and repulsed by both Antoine and Consuelo, and I just loved sweet, determined Mignonne. I found myself completely in Mignonne's camp, wanting her to find her happiness and her romantic dream (although, I'll admit, I wasn't as taken with Antoine as she was!).

In addition to the big characters -- everyone is a personality in this book -- the other star was the clothing. Szado beautifully conveys the tactile and visceral experience of creating art -- in thus case, haute couture fashion -- in such easy detail, I felt like I was handling the material Mignonne was handling, witnessing the dresses she made. (This book made me wish it had a splashy section of color pictures for Mignonne's fashions; I was devastated when I discovered Mignonne was wholly fictional and her designs aren't real!)

My only 'complaint', perhaps, is that the shift between the '40s and the '60s aren't noted. In a single chapter, we might go from the 'then' narrative -- World War II -- back to the 'now' -- the 1960s -- and it's only context that allows me to guess when we are. Otherwise, I was immersed in this book from the first page, captivated and fascinated by the Saint-Exupérys and Mignonne. I'm dying to reread The Little Prince now (as well as pick up the Stacy Schiff biography of Antoine!).

Fans of biographical historical fiction should get this one (and be prepared to want to dig out some biographies afterward!). Those who like books about artists, the creative process, or fashion design will also enjoy this book. Scandalous enough for a fun summer read, there's still emotional meat and resonance to make this satisfying. (And hard to forget!)...more

I am seriously not ready for this trilogy to end. I actually feel melancholy, reluctant to start another book for fear of losing the 'taste' of the noI am seriously not ready for this trilogy to end. I actually feel melancholy, reluctant to start another book for fear of losing the 'taste' of the novel. (For recaps, see my reviews of the first novel, The Passing Bells, and the second novel, Circles of Time.)

The novel opens similarly to the first book, The Passing Bells, with Lord Stanmore getting dressed for the day, and my heart lifted -- until the scene changed to sadness with the death of a tertiary character. With that mood established, Rock's final novel is a bounce between familiarity, bittersweet loss, and heady hope.

Seven years have passed between the end of the second novel and the start of this one. Those who wanted more time with the 'original' cast might feel some loss at the shifting direction -- I will admit I initially was disappointed -- but the twining connection between the 'new' cast and the other characters, as well as Rock's wonderful writing, sucked me in and I no longer mourned the shifting focus.

This book has the largest scope -- ten years -- from 1930 through 1940 and in that sense, I think it felt a bit rushed. Rock covered six years in The Passing Bells but conveyed, I thought, the unending grind of trench warfare rather well without losing the reader. I felt the two years covered in the second book was too little -- even though the page length was the same as the first novel! (What can I say, I just want more!) Still, this isn't an unsatisfying story: threads are tied up, characters come to some concluding arc (whether I like it or not!), and the Grevilles and their beloved Abington Pryory continue to live on, changed.

Our intrepid American reporter Martin is still the moral 'voice' of the novel; his interest in European politics and experience as a war reporter allow him to be a bit of an oracle or Greek chorus here, hinting at what we know will come. Fenton Wood-Lacey, still in the military, returns to the same battlefields where he fought during World War I, again fighting Germany. His daughters are now vibrant and passionate young women, hungry for their own victories, infatuated with soldiers the way the characters from the first novel were. Lord and Lady Stanmore, the Greville patriarchs, clinging to the past as much as they grab for the future, keep their beloved Abingdon Pryory as their seat. Rock doesn't forget the working class either: the brother of one of the Greville house maids becomes a main character, eager to change his fortunes the way he saw his sister change hers.

As with his previous novels, Rock articulates so well the societal shifts in behavior, attitudes, and mores -- and the ways parts of society haven't changed. There's a seen where a character decides to marry a divorcee, and Lady Standmore has to have a frank conversation with the woman about how, pre-war, this marriage would have never happened and how, even now, some society will never accept her. It is in this world that the children bristle -- having grown up in a post-war era of parties, blatant sexuality, explosive politics, economic boom -- and just as they hurtle into adulthood, war approaches. The bookending of these two conflicts is wonderful/upsetting/moving/cinematic/exciting/so ridiculously sad, and I love/hate Rock for doing so.

The ending was lovely, a note of hope, but I still got teary just remembering all the losses and changes that the characters experienced. (I'm getting a tiny bit teary right now!) This trilogy definitely makes my top ten for this year -- these books were everything I love about reading -- and I feel the absence of my favorite characters now that I'm done. I anticipate a reread of these books -- they're that kind of read -- and I hope this trilogy enters into the canon of 'classic' historical fiction....more

I fell in love with Melanie Benjamin's first novel, Alice I Have Been -- it was emotional and a bit raw, it made human this nearly mythological figur I fell in love with Melanie Benjamin's first novel, Alice I Have Been -- it was emotional and a bit raw, it made human this nearly mythological figure (Alice Liddell) -- and so I have been a slavish fangirl since. Which is why, as I'm no Lindbergh fan, I still went into this book with some excitement, curious about how Benjamin would handle Lindbergh's politics and later-in-life choices.

If you don't know much about Charles Lindbergh beyond his famous flight on The Spirit of Saint Louis, that won't be an impediment here. You can learn about him in much the same way his wife Anne Morrow did, by simply spending some time with him.

The novel opens in the 1970s, with Anne facing her dying husband and the proof of his last selfish acts. As she struggles to make peace with with the man, the story flashes back to their marriage, beginning in 1927 when Anne met Charles.

Anne Morrow was the daughter of an American banker who later became an ambassador. A student at Smith -- like her sister, like her mother -- Anne was the mousy, quiet, invisible Morrow. Her older brother Dwight was the Morrow heir; her older sister Elizabeth was golden and clever. Her younger sister Con was the baby, all excitement and enthusiasm. But Anne seemed to offer nothing of note until her surprise engagement to famed aviator Charles Lindbergh.

Their marriage propelled Anne into a world of stardom and fame unseen, Benjamin suggests, until Princess Diana. Chased by the press and public alike, Charles and Anne had to dress in disguises to go out and hire security guards for their homes. Worse, perhaps, was their marriage, full of expectations as well. Charles challenged Anne to be his co-pilot and crew, and she became a licensed pilot and radio operator, breaking records on her own. Yet her fame really lay, of course, in her connection with Charles. Their marriage becomes seriously fractured in 1932 when their 20-month old baby was kidnapped, and to my surprise, Anne's story didn't stop there. (Forty more years of things happen, but I'm not going to summarize them -- you'll want to see how things shake out here.)

Benjamin is a star at biographical historical fiction. She wrestles with the historical record and evokes people who are real, who answer to the choices we know they made. And while I might be dubious of Anne Morrow Lindbergh and seriously judge her as a person, I feel like I got a glimpse of who she was -- and I couldn't shake her. (Although I suppose my only critique -- and this is totally emotional knee jerk stuff -- is that I thought Benjamin was too much of an apologist, voicing for Anne an acknowledgment of Charles' dangerous political beliefs even though, in her lifetime, she made no noise of dissent or disagreement.)

As with Alice I Have Been, I was struck by Benjamin's ability to convey the both the mores and societal attitudes of the time as well as critique of those expectations and behaviors without feeling anachronistic or didactic. ...more

Thankfully, I don't mind when historical figures are wrangled into improbable fictions, and in this case, I loved watching Francis Bacon slum it and fThankfully, I don't mind when historical figures are wrangled into improbable fictions, and in this case, I loved watching Francis Bacon slum it and fight crime in World War II London.

Bacon, a crazy surrealist modernist painter who totally creepies me out (warning: painting is wicked disturbing!), is the narrator of this quick, dirty, exciting murder mystery set in the 1940s. An asthmatic, Bacon was unfit for service and instead worked for the Air Raid Precautions (ARP), doing rounds in London during the Blitz, ensuring blackout conditions were observed. Those dark nights, when his duties were completed, he would indulge in a quick pickup at a local park with an anonymous man. Living with his beloved nanny -- near blind, but sharp as a tack -- Bacon was kept in painting supplies thanks to his married lover, a local alderman, with whom he ran an illegal roulette parlor now and then for extra cash.

Naturally inclined toward trouble with a strong disinterest in police, Bacon nonetheless finds himself forced to work with a local cop when he continues to stumble upon murdered men in his neighborhood. With the Blitz killing many indiscriminately, the pointed murders provoke additional fear in Bacon and his circle of acquaintances.

I don't know much about Bacon other than having a passing awareness of his art, so I can't say whether Law's articulation of him is accurate or irreverent. I loved him -- he was wry and self-deprecating, quick and clever and kind of sketchy, bold and dirty and observant -- and he was a fascinating narrator for a World War II/London Blitz murder mystery. Through Bacon, Law's writing is pretty and poignant, artistic without feeling contrived. I had something like ten pages of bookmarks for a 179-page story -- I couldn't stop noting lines I loved, like this one, from about midway, when Bacon helps a crew of men dig rubble off someone after one of the nightly bombings.

The dog dived toward the cavity newly opened in the mess of brick and timber before raising an eerie howl. Strange how effortlessly expressive animals are, while we hairless beasts must struggle over canvass and paints and the English language. (p73-74)

For those who care, there's lots of implied gay sex but nothing overt; still, I felt deliciously seedy while reading. I raced through this one and would have loved it if it were twice or three times the length; hell, I'd love it if this became a series. I so liked Bacon, that rascal, dapper and damaged. Whether 'accurate' to the historical figure or not, Law's Bacon is a character I already miss....more

I accepted this book without realizing it was self-published. I have mixed feelings about self-pubbed books: unless it's got great bones and wonderfulI accepted this book without realizing it was self-published. I have mixed feelings about self-pubbed books: unless it's got great bones and wonderful story, I find I miss the polish that comes from a traditional publisher. (I will say, however, my top ten reads of 2011 and 2010 both included a self-published novel, so I'm not a total snob, I swear!)

In this case, LeRoy's historical novel set during the Nazi occupation of Paris certainly brought it in terms of plot and research. There was non-stop action. While reading, I was strongly reminded of M.L. Malcolm's novels -- which I hated but others love -- in terms of the relentless plot and the very tell-not-show style of writing LeRoy employs. (Unlike Malcolm, however, LeRoy uses dialogue to move things along, with mixed results, I think.) In terms of editing and formatting, the book was fine, and I didn't notice the kind of egregious mistakes that make self-pubbed books frustrating.

I ended up not finishing the book, stopping about 160 pages in when I found I wasn't really connected with out hero, Marc. First, the narrative style of the book didn't quite work for me -- within a single chapter, the story would jump back-and-forth between years, flashing between one story arc and another. I think it was meant to build some tension but I found it distracting -- with so much plot, I needed a linear development to help me absorb the action as well as find Marc's transformation from young American art student to war-wearied vet.

Secondly, I wasn't wild about LeRoy's dependence on networking to move Marc's story (even though I suppose that's actually how this kind of thing happens): by page twelve, Marc, an American ex-med student heading to art school in Paris, meets a woman on his transatlantic cruise who introduces him to Sylvia Beach. Through his father, he meets (and gets a job with) the US ambassador to France. The introductions project Marc into both the avant-garde art world and the international diplomatic table. (He meets both Mussolini and Hitler.)

Still, there are some unique historical events highlighted in this novel, like the destruction of the RMS Lancastria (Britain's worst ever maritime disaster), which I found fascinating. The novel reads fast, partially because of the breakneck development of the plot -- the occupation of Paris, the smuggling of Allied soldiers to safety -- and I don't think one needs to have a strong background with this era to appreciate the story.

Reader who like M.L. Malcolm's sort of splashy focus on history might like this book -- there's love, pathos, betrayal, angst, and romance -- and many other readers have nothing but raves for this book, so take my comments with a grain of salt....more

I was surprised at the dark violence of the novel's open -- I think I was expecting a more 'cozy' kind of war story -- but the shadowy moodiness bala I was surprised at the dark violence of the novel's open -- I think I was expecting a more 'cozy' kind of war story -- but the shadowy moodiness balanced our heroine's spunkiness and made for an enjoyable, fast-paced, thriller-y type WWII mystery.

Set in the spring of 1940, the story follows Maggie Hope, a British citizen raised in the US. After graduating from Wellesley College, Maggie planned to pursue a degree in math at MIT, but the death of her grandmother required her to go to the UK to settle her inheritance. When war breaks out in Europe, Maggie decides to help the war effort in Britain. Despite her excellent schooling and natural smarts, however, as a woman she's relegated to the typing pool. A task for Prime Minister Churchill places her closer to the action, and she soon finds herself embroiled in more interesting albeit dangerous work.

I was immediately charmed by Maggie -- and not just because she's a Wellesley grad like some of my favorite people (like my wife!). Smart, determined, and idealistic, she's the kind of heroine I love to love, and happily, MacNeal's other characters are just as appealing. There's a ton of plot crammed into this book, from national-level to personal-level, but the varied levels of drama interested me (even if I could guess where some of the threads where heading).

As with Fires of London, I was surprised by the level of localised violence that occurred. I suppose I shouldn't be. IRA terrorist bombings and murders made for a fascinating juxtaposition to the encroaching war, the horrors at home and afar, and MacNeal really articulates the frenetic, defiant celebration of those in wartime London.

My only complaint is that I found the shifting POV a bit jarring. The novel is mostly seen through Maggie's eyes, but every now and then the story would shift to another character, sometimes in the middle of the page. While it certainly created more tension, allowed for more plot threads, I hated leaving Maggie so much and now and then I had to remind myself where I was and who I was with.

I am really keen for the second book -- I'm always on the fence about sequels (do I really need to commit myself to another X number of books?!) but in this case, I'm eager to spend more time with Maggie....more

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride for free, says my wife when I'm sighing about something, and she lobbed this one at me recently when I startIf wishes were horses, beggars would ride for free, says my wife when I'm sighing about something, and she lobbed this one at me recently when I started sighing about this book. I went something like, 'I wish this book would...' -- which unfortunately is a feeling that stayed with me the entire time I was reading.

In this Olympic season, John's novel is particularly timely and I was pretty eager to start it. I'm fascinated by the 1936 Olympics and the pageantry, lies, and horrors involved, and so I was disappointed to discover that the novel's focus shifts fairly quickly away from the Olympics once our heroine is booted from the US Team due to wild behavior on the trip to Germany.

In brief, this novel follows Eleanor Emerson, socialite, wife of a jazz musician, and Olympic athlete, who takes up journalism after her aforementioned antics cause her to be kicked off the US Olympic Team. At the same time, British journalist Richard Denham struggles with his conscience and work contract when it comes to covering the 1936 Berlin Olympics. The two meet, fall for each other, get snarled in a conspiracy involving a top secret dossier about Hitler, and end up on the Hindenberg.

This isn't a bad novel, don't get me wrong, it just wasn't what I wanted it to be, and since I had some knowledge of what John featured in this novel, the story and plot and historical shading just felt too topical. For someone who is unfamiliar with this facet of Nazi Germany, I think this novel will be very gasp-inducing ('That didn't really happen, did it?!', etc.). The writing is nice, straight-forward, not overly detailed (at times, a little too tell-not-show for my tastes, actually), and the cast is manageable. A fast read with enough historical weight to keep it from being too fluffy. John's inclusion of resources he used provided me with a longer TBR as I wanted to get into the meaty details that inspired him....more

I love reading novels for the armchair escape and the free history lesson. In this case, the Greek city of Thessaloniki is the setting of The Thread,I love reading novels for the armchair escape and the free history lesson. In this case, the Greek city of Thessaloniki is the setting of The Thread, and one couple's lifelong relationship the columns for holding up this saga-ish look at love, family, national identity, belonging, loss, and war.

Starting in 2007, a beloved grandson finally learns just how his grandparents met and what their lives were like. Normally I hate this frame -- why not just start with the meat of the story? -- but in this case, it worked for me. Hislop is skilled at conveying a foreign world in a way that resonates and feels ... not familiar so much as seen -- as if in a film or photo series. I've never been to Thessaloniki (hadn't heard of it, actually!) but in her story, this was a city I fell in love with, broke my heart over, and dreamed of visiting. Once a vibrant multi-religious setting of culture and commerce, a fire in 1917 razes much of the city, and the armies of World War I and II finish the job. The story doesn't end there, though; through our couple, we follow Greece through another forty years or so of change and their own responses to that.

There's romance, obviously, but as we know from the start of the novel that the couple stays together, the meat of the story for me wasn't the will-they-won't-they but how would they weather such violence and striking change. Their love of place influenced me and I loved Thessaloniki, and had my own complicated feelings about how the city evolved over the nearly one hundred years the novel covers.

If you're a fan of WWI or WWII fic, grab this one -- the Greek setting was interesting for me -- and anyone who likes a good family saga should give this one a try. I immediately thought of book clubs for this one -- at 400 pages it is a bit chunky but I raced through the story (although I made myself slow down to savor) and there's a wealth of themes for discussion....more

Bittersweet. That's the lingering taste of this book, rich and redolent, and when I finished, I kind of wanted to spend the rest of my Sunday in a ClaBittersweet. That's the lingering taste of this book, rich and redolent, and when I finished, I kind of wanted to spend the rest of my Sunday in a Claire de Lune-stupor, rereading the lovely passages and wallowing in the satisfyingly sad/happy mood of the novel.

Hope, optimism, and innocence are themes of this book, along with passion, delight in literature, and the joy of finding kindred souls. Barbara Allen Liles -- called Allen -- becomes a teacher at a junior college in an unnamed town in southwestern Missouri. ("It is an orderly town, bred of the mines, nurtured by agriculture and some manufacture, a blend of Southern gentility and Western enterprise, firmly set in the conservatism of Middle America.", p3) A lonely young woman with aspirations of becoming a poet or novelist in Greenwich Village, Allen finds herself captivated, enamored of, and charmed by two of her students, George and Toby. Surrounded by the shadow of the war in Europe, Allen's constrained life as a teachers seems somewhat bearable with George and Toby in her life.

I really expected a basic love triangle with this story, but Carleton sets up something even more challenging to navigate through: male-female friendship and teacher-student relationships. In an era when women were held up to a different standard than men, Allen's actions are judged without interest or concern in her feelings or motivations. Her colleagues and acquaintances see and expect one thing from Allen, who has the mantle of 'teacher', and with that, some perception of power. It was fascinating, frustrating, and heartbreaking to read -- I so empathize and liked Allen -- and made even more nuanced by the fact that there isn't a clear and handy villain in all this.

I don't know if this is a historical novel; while set in 1941, I don't know when Carleton wrote this novel. It was recently discovered and published by Harper Perennial, and will include their P.S. section with interviews, 'insights', and more.

This is a skinny novel -- just about 300 pages -- and it can read fast or slow, depending on whether you have the patience to linger or (like me) rush through to the giddy, glorious, delicious end. I think fans of WWII novels will enjoy this not-quite-war novel, and anyone who enjoys a good heroine and ambiguous moral situations will find much to chew on in this book....more

I started this book and felt a bit stony about the story: the writing felt kind of casually journalistic, like an A&E piece in a local paper, andI started this book and felt a bit stony about the story: the writing felt kind of casually journalistic, like an A&E piece in a local paper, and rather snobbily I thought this might be a topical, fluffy read. After picking up the book yesterday morning in bed, I had my nose in it on my walk to the subway, and I settled in once seated on the train. When my commute ended, I was irritated at having to put my book away -- and stunned to see I had raced through more than half the book. What I initially wrote off as something simplistic turned out to be an engrossing, engaging, and moving exploration of love, family, obligation, and the terrible grey area we live in.

Modern-day Reba, a reporter with emotional damage and an eating disorder, interviews a German baker on Christmas traditions. The German baker, Elsie, remembers only the Christmas in 1944 when she went to a Nazi party, got engaged to an SS officer, and tried to leverage that power to help a few people she could. Reba is engaged to a by-the-book Border Patrol Agent whose feelings on immigration are shifting and changing as he continues to face the reality of the immigration crisis in the US.

I definitely expected some simplistic acknowledgement of the gray areas in history -- not every German was a Nazi, not every undocumented immigrant is a criminal -- but McCoy's story tackles more than that. Without getting pedantic or uncomfortably political, her characters wade through intense emotional challenges that would best anyone, and as I was reading, I found myself empathizing with just about everyone. There were no handy villains to hate on; the world Elsie and Reba live in is sticky, and I so appreciated McCoy's articulation of that. All the secondary characters were vivid, which made me care so much more, as I was as invested in them as Elsie and Reba were.

The book closes with recipes, the ones featured in the narrative, which is wonderful because ohemgee, the food descriptions made my mouth water. I raided my local Danish bakery at one point because I was, like Reba, absolutely craving the baked goods.

This would make a great book club pick -- so many facets to invite conversation and discussion -- and it would make a good gift for someone who isn't sure they like historical fiction. This is an easy novel to read despite the complicated story and I have to applaud McCoy for presenting these stories in a human way....more

This is a good book that becomes great; or maybe it was always great, and it just snuck up on me. I lingered over this novel, picking it up and now, sThis is a good book that becomes great; or maybe it was always great, and it just snuck up on me. I lingered over this novel, picking it up and now, since the chapters vary in length and POV. It was easy to dip in and out of the Novaks' lives, but Haigh's writing style and gentle characterizations kept me coming back.

Set in Bakerton, a coal-mining town in Western Pennsylvania, Haigh paints a picture of the Novak family, Polish-Italian immigrants who struggle to chart their own existence in a place where most people live and die in the mines. Beginning in the 1940s, with World War II looming in the background, the story travels about twenty years or so. This isn't a quiet novel, not exactly -- there's plenty of characters and plenty of life happening -- but the book doesn't race along with a single plot line. One hundred pages in, I wondered when the story would start; about 200 pages in, I worried about the story ending.

The story of the Novaks is familiar but that isn't a bad thing. Haigh shares with us an American narrative that has become mythologized; in her hands, I see myself, my family, my relatives, my neighbors in the Novak's story. My only complaint (but that's too strong a word since I'm not actually unhappy) was the shifting focus -- I would have rather the novel stayed with one of the Novak kids rather than shift focus -- but Haigh's writing kept me going on.

This is a novel that lingers with the reader. A week after finishing, I find myself still chewing over scenes or characters, and I've more than once wished there was a sequel of sorts so I could remain with the Novaks. If you want something meaty but not heavy or hard, consider this -- it is easy to get into and it's moving without soul-crushing....more

While I don't traditionally get my history lessons from celebrities, I was incredibly moved by actor George Takei's comments about living in an internWhile I don't traditionally get my history lessons from celebrities, I was incredibly moved by actor George Takei's comments about living in an internment camp for three years as a child.

I'd had Kristina McMorris' novel in my review queue and was excited to start. I love historical fiction for making real events in the past, and this book doesn't disappoint. Maddie Kern, an Anglo American, and Lane Morimoto, a Japanese American, fall in love and decide to elope, much to the displeasure of their families. They wake the next day to find Pearl Harbor bombed by the Japanese. Overnight, their already misunderstood marriage became something that provoked criticism, critique, hatred, fear, and horror. The events that followed were worse than they could imagine.

McMorris humanizes this incredibly fraught era, making very real a story that seems too horrifying to be true. It's a part of American history that is uncomfortable, easily ignored, but crucial to remember, and McMorris's novel is an excellent introduction. Her cast isn't enormous, but even the secondary characters get full stories and personalities, and there was much to hook me.

In fact, I cared about the characters to the point that I actually was quite angry with one of the plot twists -- there was a very tragic event that I could have lived without. I suppose the story needed that gut punch but I felt almost betrayed -- I wanted so badly for something else to happen.

In her author's note, McMorris writes about some of the themes and images she wanted to explore in her book -- brother pitted against brother, families forced to chose country or spouse -- and for the most part, she manages to convey that epic scope while keeping the story manageable and human. My only frustration with this novel, if anything, was that I wanted more.While a chunky 430 pages, McMorris doesn't focus on every life event, and as a result, some momentous moments are skipped, referred to by other characters in flashback or thought. I wanted to be with the characters during all their victories and tragedies. But that's my only quibble, and a small one at that.

Fans of WWII fiction will love this -- it's a lovely contribution to the historical fiction genre and I'm eager to see what McMorris does next! ...more

I don't read a ton of nonfiction related to WWII because I'm a softie and a wimp. (And mildly obsessive when it comes to traumatic events; I'm a chro I don't read a ton of nonfiction related to WWII because I'm a softie and a wimp. (And mildly obsessive when it comes to traumatic events; I'm a chronic 24/7 CNN-er during disasters.) All this is to say it has to be a certain kind of nonfiction to lure me from my slightly safer world of fiction.

Moorehead's book intrigued me from the first for two reasons: one, I loved her bio of the marvelous Martha Gellhorn; and two, I love books that emphasize female friendships. That this book was set among WWII French resistors just sealed the deal (one of my favorite films is based on Sebastian Faulks' Charlotte Grey).

This isn't an easy book to get into: Moorehead has a brisk, dry style and the first three or four chapters are a barrage of people, places, dates, and events. It is easy to feel overwhelmed but these chapters rather quickly sketch out the feel of France under German occupation, the changes the Germans wrought, and context-ing the roots of the various Resistance movements. (For example, there are numerous Parisian neighborhoods with communist families; Moorehead later argues that the women who were active in the Communist Party fared better than some of the non-political prisoners due to the training and upbringing.)

The book went from merely interesting to gripping when the narrative moved from establishing context and setting to recounting the torturous way these resistors were treated upon being captured. Moorehead interviewed a few of the survivors still living, as well as their families, and used a wealth of other materials to make those years of imprisonment real. As the subtitle suggests, she does focus on the friendships between these women, who all agree it was part of the reason they survived as long as they did.

There are a ton of photographs included in the book which is marvelous (and disturbing and heartbreaking) and makes the stories of these women all the more real. Upon finishing, I teared up: Moorehead made these women real for me and I felt real sorrow for them. Even those who survived faced ongoing pain and heartache. Despite that, I don't regret reading this, and I highly recommend it for anyone interested in women's lives during wartime. This is a slender book -- about 300 pages -- and it's gripping. I know I just got done emphasizing how sad it is but because of that, it's a compelling read. ...more

This is the kind of historical fiction that educates, effortlessly. Set in Singapore, spanning 1927 through 1946, this novel was a unique read for meThis is the kind of historical fiction that educates, effortlessly. Set in Singapore, spanning 1927 through 1946, this novel was a unique read for me in that it covered an era I love in a setting wholly unfamiliar to me. Chand's characters aren't royalty or society elite but every day people caught up in a changing landscape; real historical moments meet the every day.

Chand's focus in this novel is on three primary groups in Singapore: the Eurasians -- Howard Burns, his mother, and his sister, local citizens of indigenous and European descent, viewed by the white Europeans as only a step above 'natives'; the transplanted Indians -- Raj Sherma, who migrated to Singapore for economic independence and ends up embroiled with the Japanese by a twist of fate; and the Chinese -- Mei Lan, a smart young woman whose family straddles modern European ideas and traditional Chinese culture and is caught, herself, between accepting her family's wishes and starting off on her own.

In almost any novel, the lives of women interest me most, so I was unsurprised to find that Mei Lan's story grabbed me immediately. However, Chand's detailed plotting, character development, and nuanced study of race, class, and education sucked me and I ended up caring deeply for both Raj and Howard as well. Even though I think the jacket blurb tries to imply a love triangle, this isn't just a historical romance set up in an exotic locale. This is really a novel about Singapore and the occupation of the land, first by the British and then by the Japanese. Identity and alliance is intrinsic to the story. Howard's mother, Rose, perceives the European disdain for Eurasions to be right and appropriate while Howard chafes at the implication. Raj struggles to rectify his experiences with the Japanese -- every one he's met has mentored and educated him -- with the virulent anti-Japanese sentiment in Singapore. Both Howard and Raj are captivated by Gandhi's anti-colonial revolutionary actions in India, but are split as to whether Singapore should take up the movement. Mei Lan is desirous of the university education her brother is given, but feels committed to her Chinese identity especially when news of Japanese brutalities in China reach Singapore.

Like Nevil Shute's A Town Like Alice, this book covers the before, during, and after of occupation, and I appreciated Chand's ability to offer the spectrum of emotional responses. My only complaint is that despite the novel's length (483 pages), some moments felt thin and underdeveloped. Enormous events are skipped over, casually alluded to, and years pass with only a vague comment. The dips in and out of the lives of the secondary characters was both enjoyable and maddening: I loved the additional facets through which the story was told but I was frustrated by the lack of development and resolution with them, as they were as compelling as the leads.

This was my first Meira Chand novel but I'm absolutely going to look for the rest of her books: this was a meaty, engrossing, sink-your-teeth-into historical novel that will stay with me. I'm haunted by the characters and I wish I could follow them another twenty years....more

In the 1940s, the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) program was started to free up male pilots so they could fly in combat, and women pilots were gIn the 1940s, the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) program was started to free up male pilots so they could fly in combat, and women pilots were given Army flight training to do routine, non-combat flying jobs, like hauling cargo, towing targets for live artillery training, and transporting planes. I jumped at this novel because I love, love learning about how women fare during wartime and I have so admired the WASPs (who shamefully were only recognized in 2009 for their war efforts).

It's clear Friedrich did his research: there are details that crop up that I presume are from first-hand accounts. Women applying for the WASP program had to pay to get to the school, they pay their own room and board, pay for their own uniforms, and work outrageous hours, flying in planes that were sabotaged by those who thought women shouldn't be in the cockpit, and in conditions comparable to combat. But they were seen as civilians, treated as unwanted jokes by many, and they worked thankless hours and shifts in situations that male pilots wouldn't and as expected, they had to maintain their femininity and remember their place. It's a heartbreaking setup that promises disappointment, and I admire any woman who put herself in that situation -- they're stronger than me.

Sadly, this novel didn't meet my expectation and hope. The writing is straight-forward and simple and the plot predictable -- but I found myself still wishing for the best (that the WASPs would be recognized for their skill and hard work). The characters were a little flat -- predictable stereotypes (bitchy rich girl, gallant flight instructor, tough tomboy, etc.) -- which took away my ability to wholly care about what was happening. You could see a mile away the coming 'romance' and the villainous conflict.

I sometimes find that contemporary novels set during WWII are a little too intent on lionizing and commemorating the 'greatest generation' and as a result, the stories lack nuance or sophistication. I think this is the case with Wings: it's a really great premise, but I can't help but feel like the author is trying too hard to keep things noble, clean, and above board. Which works for some people, but is just too white-washed for me. (I found myself describing this as a family friendly, lady-fronted version of Memphis Belle.)

This was a fast read, and again, clearly well-researched which is what kept my interest. In the end, I found myself yearning for a novel about Sally after this one finished, a story about how she lived her life after having this freedom, adventure, danger, and romance. Friedrich is right -- these women were amazing -- and his book has me desperate to learn more about the real life WASPs. ...more

This skinny book is really a novella, closed with a brief essay. And in that way Byatt does so well, this small book on Norse mythology also tells a sThis skinny book is really a novella, closed with a brief essay. And in that way Byatt does so well, this small book on Norse mythology also tells a story of marriage and motherhood, war, loss, escapism, violence. Insidious, along the edges of the larger story, what seems to be a straight-forward retelling of some aspects of Norse mythology actually tells us a story of World War II, Byatt-as-a-child, and the way a good story can help us escape our reality.

Unlike some of the other Canongate Myth pieces, Byatt doesn't twist or warp or reinvent the myth she's chosen. Norse mythology has never been a big passion of mine so I didn't have that immediate connection with the story that I've had with other books but Byatt's (possibly?) autobiographical 'thin girl' and the World War II setting pulled me in. I might not have connected with the story of Ragnarok, but I immediately understood the magic of reading, the absorption of a compelling, alternative world on a lonely imagination.

Byatt's thin girl reads a volume of Norse mythology, an English edition that extols rather warmly the impact of Old German on the myth cycle. The play of the 'good Germans' from the book and the 'bad Germans' of WWII was interesting ("Who were these old Germans, as opposed to the ones overhead, now dealing death out of the night sky", p17) and poignant: enemies and friends are so easily made and unmade.

Unsurprisingly, the language is gorgeous but simple, poetical and lyrical and moving. ("Baldur went, but he did not come back. The thin child sorted in her new mind things that went and came back, and things that went and did not come back. Her father with his flaming hair was flying under the hot sun in Africa, and she knew in her soul that he would not come back.", p86) Byatt's narrative reads like a collection of myths, myth-of-the-thin-girl and myth of Ragnarok, and every page invites rereading.

Byatt's closing essay was interesting -- about why she chose to tell the story as she did, what she had hoped to do, what she didn't do -- but I wish it hadn't been included. I made the mistake of reading it immediately upon finishing, and it took some of the warmth away from the story as I chewed over her analysis rather than the feelings she provoked in me....more

Here's my advice: buy this book and then put aside a whole morning or afternoon to dive in because I promise you're not going to want to stop. InterruHere's my advice: buy this book and then put aside a whole morning or afternoon to dive in because I promise you're not going to want to stop. Interruptions will be painful. (Have someone bring tea or wine, though, because the story begs for that.)

At first, I thought this was going to be a literal retelling of Rebecca. The heroine, a younger woman, has a whirlwind romance with a moody older man -- Dom -- who is tight-lipped about his charismatic first wife, Rachel. Like du Maurier's book, the heroine in The Lantern is unnamed (although Lawrenson kindly has Dom give her a nickname for us to use, 'Eve'). The Lantern even has the iconic 'Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again' scene, when Eve dreams of Les Genévriers, the rambling hamlet she and Dom reside. Very quickly, though, it came clear that this novel is an homage to du Maurier's classic but still its own creature.

Alternating Eve's story is Bénédicte's, a woman who grew up at Les Genévriers during World War II and worked in the lavender fields and faced her own dark mystery. At first, I was impatient with the switching stories -- I just wanted to know what was going on with Dom -- but within two or three chapters, Bénédicte's story grabbed me as well. Her twisted, dangerous brother Pierre and her talented sister Marthe were as much a part of Les Genévriers and the story as the swimming pool and gorgeous countryside.

Eve had the right mix of naivete and obliviousness to make the story work realistically, without making me want to shake her for being a mouse (something I occasionally wanted to do to du Maurier's heroine). I greatly appreciated that Lawrenson didn't just wave away technology -- Eve does internet research, like an reasonably curious person would do -- and she gives Eve modern attitudes and behaviors. Eve confronts Dom in a way that du Maurier's heroine never could.

Lawrenson's writing style is lovely: evocative enough to give a strong sense of place but without too much ornamentation. The story races with impending danger even in the pensive places (although perhaps that was just me, unwilling to slow down!) and has the same sort of romantic gloominess of du Maurier's novel. Wisely, Lawrenson's novel is more than just what-happened-to-Dom's-wife -- du Maurier's novel set the bar so high I'm not sure any other book could do it well without seeming contrived -- and her mixing of historical mystery with a modern day Bluebeard is delightful.

Having just finished this book, I'm still flailing (internally) and sort of waving my arms because I'm so caught up in the bittersweet ending and theHaving just finished this book, I'm still flailing (internally) and sort of waving my arms because I'm so caught up in the bittersweet ending and the story of the characters. This was a beautiful, moving novel.

The setting of this book was wholly alien to me and yet Carner's writing and brilliantly conceived characters plunged me into the story and Esther's world. Esther might be one of the most moving and compelling heroines I've read in a long time: her complicated relationship with her faith, her God, her family, and her community was gripping.

The early 20th century was a tumultuous time in the world: the Ottoman Empire was crumbling, leaving residents of Jerusalem with famine, outbreaks of disease, conflict among the various communities, a loss of infrastructure; and later, World War I would cause further hardship. For the Esther's Haredi community, waiting for the coming of the Messiah, things are especially difficult, and she chafes at the life her family and her God has envisioned for her, one that, most tragically, requires her to give up her passion and talent in painting.

While this is such a sad story, I found it beautifully written and easy to read. Despite Esther's life being so unlike mine, her emotions and responses were so authentic, I could appreciate and relate to her and I cared so very, very much about how things would turn out for her. I think this would a fantastic book for discussion groups and book clubs, and anyone interested in novels about unusual faith communities. Or, frankly, any reader who wants to be caught up in a beautifully told story....more

This novel was effortless to read, and immensely enjoyable. The writing was lovely -- a little lyrical, a little poetic -- and the plot simple but comThis novel was effortless to read, and immensely enjoyable. The writing was lovely -- a little lyrical, a little poetic -- and the plot simple but compelling.

The story revolves around Teo, the aforementioned 85-year old retired ballet dancer, and Vivi, a 40-ish waitress. They meet at the coffee shop where Vivi works and strike up an unlikely friendship. This friendship provokes conversations about art, obsession, and passion, themes which weave through the rest of the story, as we learn about Vivi's romantic past and Teo's experience in Berlin during World War II.

The romance was really secondary to Teo's reminiscences, which was fine because Teo's back story is fascinating. A young Polish Jew dancing with a Danish ballet company, he and his fellow dancers are invited to perform in Berlin in 1939. It's an opportunity of a life time -- so despite protests from friends in Denmark, he goes. I don't want to give too much more away as my enjoyment came from not really knowing what to expect as the story unfolded. But I was surprised, moved, horrified, and relieved, captivated by Teo and Vivi, eager to see how their relationship would develop. The lyricism of Fallenberg's writing kept the sad parts from being too misery-inducing and made the moments of joy and happiness vibrate.

My one complaint is I found the end a tiny bit clunky but the story closed in a very neat and ultimately satisfying way, and it didn't detract from my overall enthusiasm for this book. Highly recommended -- would be an effortless and fascinating weekend read.

The title, which I initially found odd (I was reminded a bit of the cheesy Ewan MacGregor flick Down with Love), is from a marvelous quote which encap The title, which I initially found odd (I was reminded a bit of the cheesy Ewan MacGregor flick Down with Love), is from a marvelous quote which encapsulates one of the themes of the novel: "War...next to love, has most captured the world's imagination." (Eric Partridge, 1914).

Spanning 1941 through 1964, this engrossing book follows three women from a small Massachusetts town: Babe, Grace, and Millie. Much of the novel is about the impact of World War II on their lives in this town -- the ones who died in the war and the ones who came back -- but it is also more than a war novel. In the decades that follow the war, as the country tries to move on, Babe, Grace, and Millie struggle with the balance of remembering and forgetting, obeying the roles expected of a woman, and living for themselves and living for their families.

In Feldman's writing style, I found a kind of distance between myself and the characters, but it seemed to echo the distance between the characters themselves. Babe, Grace, and Millie were best friends since childhood, yet they kept so much of their heartache and pain private from their spouses, friends, and children. That narrative distance, however, wasn't an obstacle in caring about the three heroines; rather, it gave me a knot in my throat and a desire to hug each one of them -- and an awareness that were I in a room with them, I probably wouldn't have the courage to do so. The hesitation and closeting of pain, confusion, and frustration was beautifully articulated and moving; I never felt the story turned toward overly melodramatic or cheesy. At the novel's close, I felt a mix of hope and sorrow -- and I wished that the novel were twice its size so I could follow Babe, Grace, and Millie for another twenty years....more

From the other reviews I've seen I know I'm in the minority here, but I disliked this book. And I tried really hard to like it because it is so up myFrom the other reviews I've seen I know I'm in the minority here, but I disliked this book. And I tried really hard to like it because it is so up my alley (and I'm reviewing the sequel!).

I found myself describing this book to friends as watching a movie with gorgeous scenery and a very exciting plot and two super pretty and super wooden actors in the lead. I found Malcolm's writing to be very telling (rather than showing): I was told the heroine was a 'firebird' but she didn't do anything to warrant such an interesting description; I was told the hero was charming but what he did seemed creepy at best and sociopathic at worst.

History provided all the plot and Shanghai in the '20s and '30s was a tumultuous place, but the story just felt boring and busy all at once. Despite the promise of two interesting characters, only Leo got any real face time, which further enhanced my inability to connect with or care about the other characters and his behavior was so repugnant I wasn't that interested in connecting with him.

My next comment might be a spoiler, so skip to the next paragraph if you care. From the moment she walked onto the page, heroine Martha was clearly expendable. She could have been so interesting, but instead, remained flat, merely a foil for Leo, a very pretty bauble to dance out when we needed to be reminded of all that Leo had to lose. Continuing the telling-not-showing vein, we're subjected to lots of scenes of men lusting after her because she's so interesting and vibrant, but in the text, all she actually did was smile prettily and blink back tears most of the time. Her death was clear from the middle of the book and it was just a matter of getting to the page where it happened.

I suppose I should say that another book everyone loves and find so romantic, The Time Traveler's Wife, I found to be creepy and wholly unromantic. Many bloggers who have great tastes love this book, so it may just be that Malcolm's writing and I don't gel...more

Did...I find I could understand this novel despite being totally ignorant about philosophy?: YES. There's a philosopher as a character and some lovelyDid...I find I could understand this novel despite being totally ignorant about philosophy?: YES. There's a philosopher as a character and some lovely passages that have a sort of philosophical bent to them, but the writing and the plot grab you immediately.

Was...I reminded a little of Michael Ondaatje and Jeanette Winterson?: YES. The book is delicate without being precious or overwrought; the essence of the story is there without being too thin or leaving the reader at arm's length.

Did...this book make me sad?: YES. BUT IN THE BEST WAY. I've been telling friends the feel of this book is a kind of poignant, bittersweet sadness that you want to savor a little -- not the kind of misery that ruins your weekend. I promise.

Review: Some where in my childhood, I remember seeing a PSA-style poster extolling the awesomeness of reading by saying you'll always remember the first time something you read made you cry. Even though I'm a softie, I do still recall -- quite vividly -- the pieces that have moved me deeply: Kurt Schork's Reuters piece about 'Romeo and Juliet' killed on Sarajevo's Vrbana Bridge; Jeanette Winterson's Written on the Body; a breakup letter from my first adult love; and now, Thaisa Frank's gorgeous novel.

That said, please, please don't let the possibility of sorrow or sadness scare you away from picking up this book. Books about the Holocaust promise unhappiness and I steeled myself for some passages that would disgust or scare or horrify me; instead, Frank presents a story of the Holocaust in a delicate, deft way that allows pain and fear and deep sadness without making one want to jump off a bridge upon finishing. (In fact, when I finished, I just wanted to sit with a cup of tea and sniff with a cat in my lap. I wanted to savor the bittersweet, heartbreaking poignancy. I'm getting teary again just recalling it!)

The premise of the story is unbelievable and fascinating: the 'Scribes', sixty translators plucked from death or trips to the camps due only to chance and their ability to speak more than one language, live in an underground compound designed to resemble a bucolic village, tasked with writing letters to the living relatives of those killed at the camps. Managed by three SS officers who are more a part of the community than separate from it, the novel follows the events put into motion when Martin Heidegger's wife makes a ruckus about wanting to hear from a family friend, a man who was taken to Auschwitz.

Frank very quickly evokes the world of late World War II Germany, with it's mixture of grim efficiency and slavish devotion to the occult. Heidegger and his philosophical musings stick out as cruelly self-introspective and even inappropriate (there's a particularly moving scene in which he wants to discuss Being with a man just recently escaped from Auschwitz). What makes the story touching and human is that within this huge, horrible, sad event, she presents the small, every day battles and victories of the 'Scribes': loneliness, fear, desire, jealousy, the wish to belong, the awareness of what has been lost, surviving, finding love, human connection....more